


The Art of Betrayal: A Five Part Short Story

by sootforbrains



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Dream Team - Fandom, Sleepy Boys Inc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25928242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootforbrains/pseuds/sootforbrains
Summary: In spite of its recent independence, L'Manberg still finds itself suffering from loss--and the capture of one of their own.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 294





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this story contains no gore, death, shipping, or anything that would cross any creator boundaries. This is all for fun, a creative piece I wrote simply inspired by the Dream SMP war. As always, if you feel I AM crossing any boundaries, please feel free to message me. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_ WILBUR _

"Do you regret it?"

The branch sagged as Wilbur lifted his weight onto it, the heels of his boots digging dangerously into the bark of the trunk behind him. He let out an involuntary groan as the tree nicked at the exposed skin of his arm, almost in protest at his presence. Beside him, Niki--who was much more agile--let out a gargle of a laugh at his clumsiness, before clapping her hand over her mouth to stifle the rest of her amusement. 

Once he was sure he wasn't going to plummet the thirty feet back down to the ground, Wilbur quirked an eyebrow at her. "What, like you've never struggled to climb a tree before? Give me a break."

Niki shook her head, the residue of a smile still present on her lips. "It's still funny," she remarked, "to watch you struggle."

"You know I could just--" Quickly, Wilbur shifted his weight, so that the branch sagged frighteningly low.

Niki shrieked, clasping the bark, desperately trying to regain her balance. "Wil! Jesus Christ, Wil, that's not funny!"

But Wilbur was laughing, and there were still giggles bubbling up and over her tongue. The sun was still setting, and the breeze was still cool. The evening was still lovely. 

The pair were silent for a long moment, and Wilbur let himself breathe. They were above the leaves of the redwoods now, and the sun had laid out its final glory on L'Manberg. From up here, it almost looked glorious again. 

From up here, it was hard to remember the war.

But then Niki sighed, her lips thinning, and she asked it again: "Do you regret it?"

Wilbur blinked, didn't look at her. "Regret what?"

"Coming here." She gestured outward, fingers alighting against the backdrop of the great wall, the tips of the buildings that had just proclaimed themselves free. "Creating....this."

Wilbur couldn't bite back his scoff. "Are you crazy?" He glanced at her; she wore her uniform well, and part of him wished she'd been there for the battles. "Not in a million years." He said it with conviction, real and honest conviction. He felt a loyalty to this land, a responsibility he felt he needed to grasp firmly, or else it would slip between his fingers.

Niki's smile was back. "I had a feeling you'd say that."

Another silence, not deafening, but welcome. Crickets were preparing their concerts for the night, and frogs were waking from daytime slumbers. Wilbur let himself breathe, once again. It was strange, not to hear the distant crackling of TNT being set off. Strange to sit in the utter stillness of nature.

"When does Tommy get out of the infirmary?"

At this, Wilbur grinned. "Tomorrow morning."

"Poor thing," Niki mused, swinging her legs to the breeze. "Those discs were so important to him."

Wilbur nodded. "They were."

"You've given him an awful lot of responsibility, haven't you?"

"He's earned it. He can handle himself." Wilbur's gut crackled with that familiar longing, that brotherly urge to protect Tommy mixed with that overwhelming feeling of pride that washed over him whenever watching the boy fight. Watching them all fight, Wilbur felt it. It tugged at him like a leash, always wrapped around his neck no matter how he wrestled with it. He would always care for them.

He could feel Niki's eyes on him. Glancing at her, he said, "What?"

She shook her head quickly, wispy hair falling into her eyes. "Nothing. Just....you're proud. I can tell."

"Wilbur? Niki?"

The voice rang throughout the forest from far below. Craning his neck, Wilbur glanced down, struggling to see through the twist and tangle of branches to the ground below. He could just barely make out the blues of a uniform; protruding from it, the furry head of a fox, snout tilted upward towards Wilbur. 

"Fundy?" Wilbur called uncertainly, and almost smiled at how ridiculous the question in his tone was-- _what other fox lived in L'Manberg?_

"Yeah, hi." Fundy's tone was a mixture of uncertainty and urgency, something that had proved to be an unhealthy cocktail in the past.

Almost immediately, Wilbur's gut twisted. He and Niki shared a look that was charged with questions, before he tilted his gaze downward and said, "Fundy, what's wrong?"

The response was nearly simultaneous: "You better get down here quick."

"Shit." Scrambling, Wilbur clambered his way around the branches and various, random twigs, doing his best not to slip as he descended. He reached the ground in a mere matter of seconds, dropping with a dissatisfied grunt before Fundy, dusting the tree's residue off of his hands. Niki dropped beside him, sweeping her hair up and off of her shoulders, breathing deep.

Fundy regarded the two of them, snout pursed in a residual frown. "I've got some bad news."

Wilbur's eyebrows shot upward. "Well?"

Fundy looked suddenly uncomfortable; his ears, usually perky and upright, flattened themselves against his head as his eyes darted strangely to and fro, seemingly unable to come to rest on one thing. "I've just gotten word from Jack that....." He trailed off, then took a breath, composing himself. 

"We've lost Tubbo," he said, an edge emerging in his tone. "They've got him."

Wilbur blinked, unable to process this. "What? What do you mean 'they've got him?'"

"I mean....Jack was on watch duty by the front gate, and saw Eret....almost carrying him out through one of the holes in the wall. Jack said it looked like Tubbo was unconscious, and that he tried to stop them, but they were too far away by the time he reached them, and--"

"Slow down." Wilbur's gut was beginning to clench, tighter and tighter. "Just, slow down for a second. Do you mean to tell me Eret....he _captured_ Tubbo? Like, for....prisoner of war purposes?" 

Fundy nodded vigorously. "Well, I don't know about that. Jack thinks it's the Dream Team's way of....sending some kind of message. I think it might have to do with them wanting to question him." Fundy shifted, gazing uncertainly at Wilbur. "I'm sorry to ruin your evening."

"No. It's okay, it's just..." Wilbur ran an anxious hand through his hair. There was an anger bubbling inside of him, riled to life by the mention of Eret. _That traitorous bastard._

"How long ago was this?" Niki stepped forward, seeming to sense Wilbur's growing emotion. Silently, he thanked her for taking the lead; he didn't trust himself to speak without letting out a string of incoherent curses.

Fundy considered. "Jack came to me maybe....ten minutes ago? I came directly here."

Wilbur bit his lip. "Does Tommy know?"

At this, Fundy said nothing. The silence seemed to do the talking for him.

"Jesus." It jumped through Wilbur's lips like a curse.

"He's in the infirmary still." Fundy's tone had softened greatly; no longer the urgency of a soldier, but the sympathy of a friend. "He's just lost his discs, he's recovering from a duel--forgive me if I wanted to spare the kid, if only for a few extra minutes."

Wilbur sighed; Fundy was right, which was a usual occurrence. The breeze was lighter down here on the ground, and Wilbur found himself missing that branch with Niki, in what he'd considered the calm after the storm. That peace in which one could sit for awhile, in the absence of battle.

How he wished he'd known that this seemed to be only the beginning of the storm.

"Right, well." He straightened; Niki and Fundy were both looking at him expectantly, and he returned their gazes with as little emotion as possible. "We've got us a Tubbo to get back, yeah?"

\------------

A week after the final battle--a week since Tommy had given up his discs and Wilbur had drafted the great Declaration of Independance--and explosions still rang in Wilbur's ears.

Night after night he found himself thrown into that abyss between subconscious and real life by the echoes of yelling, of Dream and his biting tone, of Tommy and his seemingly endless sacrifices. Nights of sitting awake in his bed, playing guitar to calm himself, remembering that it was over. The walls were safe, made that way by days of shooting, negotiating, loss. 

And yet Wilbur always feared. 

Now, as he neared the central structure of L'Manberg--the Hot Dog Van, as it had been dubbed--with Fundy and Niki at his heels, he felt himself tremor with that fear again. As he threw open the door, placed himself at the head of the main room's table (something that had once been used to draft battle plans, to discuss elaborate attack methods), he felt it rumbling within him, threatening to spill over into his mannerisms. 

"Are we going to tell Tommy?" Fundy rounded the table, bracing himself against it with his paws. Niki folded her arms and regarded the both of them with a cautiously guarded expression. 

Wilbur sighed, tapped the table with his fingers. "We're going to have to, aren't we? He's going to find out eventually." He stared down at the wood of the table, was beginning to see patterns in the design. "In the meantime," he said, glancing up, "let's figure this thing out." He looked to Fundy. "Where's Jack?"

"Reporting for duty, boss." From behind Fundy, the younger soldier entered the room from a different doorway, hair tousled from a long day's work. His glasses were askew; beyond them, his eyes were beaming with determination. 

"Good." Wilbur nodded, addressing him. "What did you see?"

All of a sudden, Jack nervousness seemed evident. He glanced fervently around the room, made uncomfortable by the eyes trained upon him. He was new; not as new as Niki, but fresher than the war, and therefore hadn't been present for the battles which tended to creep their ways into conversation among the other soldiers. He adjusted himself, cleared his throat, and said to Wilbur, "Seemed to be heading east, toward Dream territory. And he was....you know, he was carrying Tubbo in his arms, like the kid was unconscious." Jack brought forward his own arms, demonstrating a bridal carry. "It seemed an awful lot like he wasn't in any kind of hurry. Almost like he was sending some kind of message." At this, he shrugged, and stepped back. "That's....that's all I saw. I tried to go after them, but it was too late....and then I went to find Fundy right after, so...."

He cleared his throat again, and looked to Wilbur expectantly. 

Head reeling, Wilbur bit his lip, and did his best to consider Jack's sentences--which seemed to be nothing more than words strung out on a line. 

_Wil, we're free now, aren't we?_

It seemed that they weren't free, after all. 

Voicing his own thoughts, Fundy said, "What do they want with us? They gave us our independence. They're supposed to leave us alone."

"Maybe it's some kind of power play." Niki uncrossed her arms, face contorted by her thoughts. "Maybe they're asserting dominance."

"Yeah, but kidnapping Tubbo is a bit much, I'd say," huffed Fundy, tone low, almost menacing. 

Wilbur looked to Jack. "Where did you say Eret came from?"

"Uh, west side of the wall." Jack gestured behind him. "Over there. I'm not sure how."

Wilbur nodded. He let his brow furrow as he regarded the other three. 

And then, he straightened and pushed past Fundy toward the door. Wrenching it open, he stepped back out into the fading evening.

"Wilbur?" Niki's voice rang out behind him, drawing him to a halt. "Where are you going?"

He threw a glance over his shoulder. "To the infirmary."

He didn't wait for a response; he stepped forward, down the steps, and let the door shut behind him. 

His boots squished against the still-damp grass as he crossed the lawn, through the slowly rising town center of L'Manberg, toward the hastily constructed infirmary near the corner of the woods. His head was swimming in its uncertainty, but one thing was surfacing amongst the must of confusion: he needed his right-hand-man, physically stable or not.

Footsteps squelched in the mud behind him, and Fundy appeared beside him, breathless. "Wil, what's your plan?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Wilbur kept his gaze forward. "I'm getting Tommy."

"Yeah, and then what?" Fundy's anxiety was spilling over, trying desperately to infect Wilbur. "What next?"

"I don't know." Wilbur kept his stride steady, his gait unwavering. It didn't matter how loudly his heart was pounding against his ribs. It didn't matter how desperately he wanted to burst into Dream's territory and demand his Secretary of State back. 

He was their leader. He had to remain strong.

"Jesus, Wil--"

Suddenly, something in Wilbur snapped, and he rounded on Fundy, letting himself come face to face with his best soldier. Fundy's eyes widened, and he tried to step back, but Wilbur's hand was already on his shoulder, firm, unmoving. The hand of a president doing his best not to crack. 

"Please, be patient with me," Wilbur's tone was low, shiveringly so. Fundy's snout twitched, and Wilbur did his best to meet the fox's gaze. He knew they were both thinking of those final fights, those standoffs which defined them, fighting side by side among flurries of arrows, lethality biting at their heels. "Please."

Fundy stepped back, away from Wilbur's grasping hand. He blinked once, and Wilbur could see his thoughts churning, nearly as quickly as Wilbur's own. "Okay."

"Thank you." Wilbur straightened, and behind Fundy, he saw Niki standing in the doorway of the Hot Dog Van, leaning against the frame, regarding him with a furrowed brow. He flashed her an uncertain smile. 

She didn't return it. Her expression simply answered him instead.

"Wil?"

Wilbur glanced back at Fundy; the fox's brow was raised, a question mark poised at the end of a sentence. 

"Are we going to get Tommy?"

A smile graced Wilbur's lips, a forced thing pulled taut by the muscles of his cheeks. It felt unnatural, all of a sudden, the grin he was so used to wearing. 

But he wore it anyway.

He turned toward the infirmary. Fundy followed suit.


	2. Part Two

_ FUNDY _

The lights of the infirmary were bright, infinitely so. They pricked at eyes like needles.

Fundy threw up a paw, squinting against the fluorescents. Beside him, Wilbur didn't seem all that bothered. He charged forward into the main room of the infirmary like a dog leading cattle.

Uncertainly, Fundy followed. He had never been a fan of sterile environments; it all seemed too clean, too stuffed to the brim with artificial hope. This particular infirmary was only one room--not a lot of space for that hope to go, anyways--and both walls were lined with cheaply-made cots with even cheaper linens thrown onto them. 

Only one of the beds was occupied, at the very end of the row to the left. 

Tommy's head was turned away from the pair on his pillow, face hidden by his throws of blond hair; but the slow rise and fall of his chest--paired with the steady beep of the heart monitor he was hooked up to--suggested that he was only asleep, blissfully unaware of the riling world around him. 

Wilbur started forward; Fundy scrambled after him, his own gut roiling with nerves. A thousand thoughts were chasing themselves through his head--and all of them were attached to Eret. 

_It was never meant to be, this revolution. You'll see that soon enough._

All those nights filled with whispers of revolution. Those hopeful eyes as they fell upon the land, and how they talked of bringing down the enemy. 

All of it tossed down the drain in that control room.

All of it thrown so hastily to the side. A friend curdled wickedly into a foe. 

Blinking, Fundy realized that his paw had involuntarily curled itself into a fist. Glancing up, he saw that Wilbur had already reached Tommy's bedside, and was pulling up one of the infirmary's cheaply-made plastic chairs to sit in. Quickly, Fundy joined him, standing at the foot of the bed, gazing down at Tommy, thoughts calming to a steady churn rather than a hailstorm. 

He and Wilbur shared a glance buzzing with things that didn't need to be said. 

Then Wilbur let his hand alight on Tommy's shoulder. 

"Kid," he said, softly, "wake up. We need to talk."

\-----------

"I say we attack in the morning."

Fundy's back was propped against the wall, and he folded his arms as he surveyed the room. Wilbur had taken his rightful place at the head of the Hot Dog Van's planning table, tall and gaunt as he regarded his soldiers with wide, determined eyes. All of the innocence of being with Niki earlier had been washed out of them completely; it was almost scary, how quickly he was able to shove aside personal emotion for the sake of the group. 

Beside him, Tommy was slumped in a chair, hair tousled and hanging in his eyes. He wasn't looking at anything in particular; no, he appeared to be lost in his own, inane thoughts, his jaw working with emotion. They'd had to help him out of bed at the infirmary, but that had been it; he had insisted on walking all on his own. 

He'd taken the news unexpectedly quietly, had simply wrapped his arms around his thin frame and nodded along while Wilbur walked him through Jack's account of Tubbo's capture. Fundy had looked on tensely, ready to intervene if anything was to go sideways. 

But Tommy had merely bit his lip, and said, in a tone that was much too quiet, "What are going to do about it?"

And so, gathered as a troop, they began to figure out what they were going to do about it.

Beside Fundy, Niki reached up to pull her hair back into a ponytail. It seemed to be a nervous tic of hers.

"Who are we sending?" Jack had placed himself opposite from Wilbur, posture too taut, too unnatural. Beyond his glasses, his eyes were troubled. 

Wilbur regarded the room. His eyes landed on Fundy, and they were filled with something Fundy couldn't quite place, something in that gray area between frustration and determination. 

At that, Fundy stepped forward, and said, "I'll go."

"I'll go, too." Tommy straightened in his chair. It was the first thing he'd said all meeting, and the sound of his voice was both welcome and disturbingly out of place. 

Wilbur scoffed, and looked to Tommy. "Oh, no. Not you. You're injured, you need to stay here."

"What--you, you got me out of the infirmary!" Tommy was beginning to sputter, and he attempted to rise from his chair, all wobbly legs and contorted expressions of pain. Wilbur lurched forward, but Tommy waved him away. His eyes were narrowing beneath his nest of hair, and he rounded on the entire room. "Tubbo is _my best friend_. I'm going." He turned back to Wilbur. "I'm going," he repeated, voice wobbling.

Fundy's heart clenched. He could see the conflict nestled in Wilbur's eyes as he regarded his Vice President.

_It was never meant to be, Fundy. You've got to listen to me._

"Tommy." Before he was entirely sure of what he was going to do, Fundy approached the table. Tommy's head snapped toward him, eyes aflame. Fundy cleared his throat, and said, "I think you should listen to Wilbur."

"Then what the _fuck_ was the point of getting me out of the infirmary?" Tommy's head whipped back to Wilbur; he was starting to get loud, frighteningly so. Fundy could feel the tension of the room thicken. "You tell me my best friend's been captured by the enemy, and what, you want me to just _sit here_? You want to torture me, is that it?"

Fundy bit his lip, turned to Wilbur. "He's right, Wil, I told you, we shouldn't have woken him up--"

"I think you should let him go."

Niki placed herself beside Fundy; when he glanced at her, he saw the coolness in her eyes as she cast her gaze on Wilbur. It was strange, to see her so terse, when she was known for her horribly intoxicating sweet words. 

"Niki...." It came out of Fundy's mouth in a whisper, a dart of warning thrown at her chest. Wilbur would listen to her; Fundy knew it like he knew the sun was going to rise. He'd let Tommy come along....and then what? 

Eret was as unpredictable as they came, and Dream's tyranny was that of fire, greed, and power; worthy of history books. 

And it was hard to imagine what they'd want with a boy like Tubbo.

"Let him go." Niki's tone was as firm as the wood beneath their feet. She stared daggers at Wilbur.

Fundy whipped his head toward his President. "Wil--"

"Fine." Wilbur's eyes were wide, locked on Niki. His thoughts were hidden well behind them, it seemed, churning in their mysterious hurricane behind his forehead. His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment, before he turned to Tommy and said, "You can come."

"Wilbur, what are you doing?" Fundy simply couldn't take it anymore; the words burst out of him strangely, an unexpected burst of bullets. He found himself looking at Wilbur with wide eyes, fueled by the churning in his gut. "You can't--"

"I know. I know." Wilbur held up a hand and, surprisingly, Fundy felt his snout snap shut. He bit his lip, fuming with confusion, embarrassment, filthy with worry. "I know it's dangerous," Wilbur continued, and he glanced at Tommy, "but isn't all of this? Dangerous, isn't it?"

Fundy shook his head. The bad feeling that had begun as a pit in the very bottom of his gut had begun to grow at a frightening pace, expanding until it had graced the very tips of his toes. He looked at the soldiers gathered in the room--and when he took them all in, one by one, the gaping hole that had been Tubbo was more evident than ever. 

"We ride at dawn," Wilbur repeated, laying his hand flat against the table. 

"We ride now." Tommy's tone was firm, challenging. 

And to Fundy's utter horror, after a moment of consideration, Wilbur nodded. 

"We ride now. Fundy." He let his gaze settle on the fox; there was something lodged in his eyes that Fundy didn't recognize, something that made his fur stand on end. It seemed to be some corrupt form of determination, some indirect twist of courage. "Get your things together."

Fundy didn't know what to say. So he simply nodded. 

"Yes, sir."

_Remember, Fundy. It was never meant to be this way. You will lose, all of you. You just can't see it yet._


	3. Part Three

_NIKI_

She watched them ready themselves with folded arms and narrowed eyes.

"And why aren't you letting us go?" she asked, for what felt like the millionth time, gesturing between herself and Jack--who, admittedly, seemed a little relieved that he hadn't been called upon to face the big and bad Dream Team. But Niki wasn't like him. Niki was raring for a brawl; she wanted Tubbo back as badly as any of them.

Wilbur slid his sword into its sheath, securing it to his belt. They were just outside of the Van, fully exposed to the pinpricked sky--the moon and her friends didn't seem to be smiling upon L'manberg tonight. 

"Because someone has to stay behind and keep watch." He said it so matter-of-factly, the lack of thought behind it so infuriating that Niki had to resist the urge to clench her fists. She could sense his unsease--hell, it was practically tangible--but weren't they all uneasy?

"Why don't you let Jack stay? He can handle himself." Niki gestured to Jack, who was sitting with his back against a knoll in the grass, staring down at his hands. At the mention of his name, he perked up, looking up at them all shyly.

Wilbur wrapped his fingers around his sword. "Niki...."

"What?" She could feel her chest tighten, her resolve pulling taut with it. She was done being polite; she wanted in.

It was strange, being inducted into L'Manberg after the war, when the dust had settled and the swords had been sheathed. It was almost easier, being on the outside; easier to notice Wilbur's constantly fidgeting fingers; Tommy's pent-up energy, held firm by his want to impress the rest of them with his courage; Tubbo's thrown gazes, how the boy never seemed to be able to hold eye contact anymore.

Niki saw it all but had kept it delicately to herself. She'd given them time to count their victories and deal with their losses.

But she was done giving them time. She was ready to be a part of the fight.

Wilbur remained silent, jaw working beneath sealed lips. She swung her gaze over to Fundy, who looked equally as uncomfortable, ears pressed flat against his head as he regarded her. 

After a moment, it was Tommy who spoke up, a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, crossbow perched deftly on one raised knee. 

"Let her come, Wil."

At this, Wilbur and Fundy shared a glance. Niki bit her lip.

"Let me come," she repeated, reiterating Tommy--she tossed a grateful look toward him, then crossed her arms over her chest, holding firm.

She knew each one of their tells down to the very last detail. When Wilbur was uncomfortable, he tended to wring his hands, tug at his uniform. Now, his fingers traveled over the fabric of his weapons belt, eyes flickering between Niki, Fundy (who was uncharacteristically quiet), and Tommy. 

The silence was unbearable.

"I don't need your permission," Niki said suddenly, the resolve snapping in her like fine wire, and she stepped forward, lurching past Tommy, approaching the weapons rack which leaned against the side of the Hot Dog Van. She plucked up a sword, held it up so it gleamed in the light, turned it so that it glinted at the boys like a charming little wink. Turning toward Wilbur, she sheathed it and smiled; his mouth was open like he wanted to protest, but something was stopping him from speaking. "I can make my own decisions, President Soot."

At this, Tommy let out a burst of a cackle, lighting up the night sky with its energy. "The woman rebels against you!" he said to Wilbur, who simply looked as if someone had stolen his guitar and smashed it. Niki grinned, ear to ear, and placed her hands on her hips. 

Then she felt Fundy's paw come to rest on her shoulder, and her gut swelled with pride. "I think the lady wants a fight," he said, and she could hear the tinge of smile in his tone. 

And Wilbur's lips were beginning to twitch with the beginnings of a smirk, his expression something between dogged worry and coy shame. 

Finally, finally, he sighed. "I can't stop you," he said resignedly, and Tommy clapped his hands happily. 

Niki flashed him one of her sickly sweet smiles. 

Wilbur looked to Jack, who was still perched on his grassy knoll. "You want to come too, I reckon?"

But Jack only shook his head fervently. "No, I'm good to keep watch here."

"Right." Wilbur turned to the rest of them, hand on the hilt of his blade. Beside Niki, Fundy shifted, rolling his shoulders back. Tommy straightened, fixed his posture like the soldier that lived in his heart. Niki held her chin high and awaited Wilbur's command.

"We ready, men?" He winked at Niki. "And ambitious woman?"

They all nodded, practically bristling with anticipation. 

"Then let's go."

From the ground, Jack threw up a salute. "Good luck, boys."

And as they began to march, Niki thought, almost desperately, _We really are going to need it, aren't we?_

\-----------------

The night kept watch over them, providing them with a cloak of expansive dark as they exited L'Manberg, all clustered together like a group of children lost in the woods. Niki's skin was prickling with excitement; she would finally come face to face with the infamous Eret, the rumoredly tyrannical Dream Team, if she was lucky. All of those legends Wilbur had whispered to her in the deep throes of the night, all those horrid tales of battle as they both eluded sleep together, tucked among the branches of the redwoods--all of it would become hers tonight.

Tommy held a torch high above his head, providing them with a flickered path of gold along the sea of grass. When they traveled through the gates of L'Manberg, however--as they entered the land of the Dream Team--he lowered it to his lips and gently blew it out, dousing them in black.

Goosebumps flooded Niki's arms. She could just barely make out Wilbur's height and Fundy's ears bobbing in the black ahead of her, but that was all her eyes were able to make out. And for the first time that night, she was nervous. 

_They're merciless. Absolute monsters, when you've got what they want._

"Niki?"

Whispered in the dark. Niki jerked, then felt the fabric of a uniform brush her shoulder. 

"Niki," Tommy whispered again, voice almost lost in the breeze. 

"What's wrong?"

"I'm scared." It barely escaped his lips, and she almost didn't hear him say it, despite their proximity. 

"Of what?" She let her shoulder brush his, a reminder that she was still there, even in the dark.

"Of what they want him for." It was a breath of a whisper, poked through with emotion. Her heart twisted itself against her ribs. 

Ahead of them, Wilbur and Fundy's forms bobbed along, traveling at a headstrong pace. A determined pace.

"Don't be." Niki let herself smile, her words dancing along in the wind. "Tubbo can handle himself."

"I sure hope so."

"Niki? Tommy? You still back there?" Wilbur's voice floated back to reach them. 

"We're here," Niki answered, and nudged Tommy's arm. In a whisper, she told him, "You're the bravest kid I know. Tubbo's lucky you're coming for him."

But before he could respond to that, there came a sudden cry from Fundy, followed by the thump of an arrow embedding itself into a nearby tree trunk.

_They'd stop at nothing, Niki, to get what they want._


	4. Part Four

_TOMMY_

The Dream Team descended like a hurricane.

Fundy's cry seemed to echo in the night, ringing in Tommy's ears like a battle cry. A cold dart of fear pierced his heart, but then it faded as adrenaline flooded his system. He raised his crossbow, aiming it blindly into the night, and took several steps backward, trying to control his breathing.

"Back up!" This was Wilbur, voice disembodied in the dark. Tommy did his best not to stumble over his own feet, holding his crossbow before him wildly. He didn't shoot, for fear of hitting one of his friends as opposed to the enemy.

There was a flash of light in the dark, the golden glow of a torch for a split second. Tommy lurched forward, fingers twitching at the trigger of his crossbow. Panic bloomed frantically in his gut; there was nothing he could do under the blindness of night. It was stupid of them, really, to come right away; of course the Dream Team would've been expecting them. They weren't idiots. And the cover the darkness provided would've been an advantage--that is, if they already had the element of surprise.

Now, they were simply hindered by it, their own plan twisted violently against them. 

The sound of metal grinding against metal rang in his ears, and he flinched. The noise was tangible, almost, the yells of Fundy and Wilbur echoing as if they were inside of Tommy's skull, the sound of Niki's grunts as she swung her sword driving daggers into his side. 

_Good God, what were we thinking?_

A hand closed over his wrist.

He jerked, crying out, but the fingers tightened, and he felt a breath of voice against his ear: "Don't move."

Tommy froze.

"You've already lost." Dream laid a hand on Tommy's shoulder, and began to pull the boy sideways, away from the tussle, away from his struggling friends. "But I think you need to see something."

"Let go of me." Tommy jerked again, his fear bursting through his initial shock, and he tried to pull away, but Dream's grip was firm. 

"I suggest," whispered Dream, in a tone that was dripping with menace, "that you come with me, no questions asked."

Tommy bit his lip. It was too late to reach for an arrow, too late to try and shoot his way out of this. 

So he went, letting Dream lead him blindly through the dark. His breath sounded far too loud in his own mind, whirling with the hurricane already dismantling his defenses. 

In the distance, there came another yell from Wilbur, and then, loudly, "Tommy?"

"Don't say anything," warned Dream, quiet as a thought.

Tommy grit his teeth, and wrenched his eyes shut.

"Tommy?!" Wilbur's tone was filled with panic, that brotherly instinct spilling over his sentences like fine wine. Tommy's heart beat wildly in his chest. 

_I'll be back soon, Wil,_ he thought, as Dream--one hand still grasping Tommy's shoulder--reached forward and pulled open an unseen trapdoor in the grass.

_I promise._

"Where the fuck is Tommy?!" Wilbur's voice began to fade as Dream nudged Tommy toward the trapdoor, and he began to descend down the ladder, disappearing into the earth below. "What have you done with Tommy?!"

Dream began to climb down after Tommy, and as soon as he pulled the trapdoor shut, there was a flash of a spark, and a torch gave its light to the little cavern. Tommy began to descend faster, now that he was able to see his hands, hoping that if he was able to get down into whatever cave he was heading towards first, he would be able to scout out an escape option, some tunnel he could disappear into until the coast was clear. 

After about a minute of climbing, Tommy's shoes hit solid stone, and he backed up, away from the ladder and into a sprawling cavern. Dozens of torches cast flickering, golden shadows around the stone. It was sickening, almost, the smell of earth. The feeling of being trapped down here.

Dream dropped into the cavern from the last rung of the ladder, and Tommy was able to get a glimpse of the man he had been fighting for what felt like eternities. The mask--that damn mask, so whimsical and yet so insufferably horrible--was pulled to one side of his face, shrouding it in shadow, and as he turned to face Tommy, there was something like glee sparkling in his eyes. 

Tommy pulled an arrow from his quiver and loaded his crossbow, heart beating wildly. Aimed it at Dream's chest.

But Dream didn't move.

All he did was smile, a grim imitation of the mask.

"I wouldn't try that," came a voice from Tommy's right, the cavern magnifying the man's deep tones, amplifying it, crossfading it with that of an entity rather than that of a human.

Tommy turned his head, and saw Eret emerge from the shadows of the cave, crown perched smugly in his dark hair. He was aiming his bow at Tommy, a smile playing lazily at his lips. And, beside him--

Tommy's heart lurched brightly. "Tubbo!"

The boy was looking at Tommy with sheepish eyes. His uniform was tattered and dirty, his cheeks flushed with red, arms crossed shyly. 

"Lower your weapon," said Eret, and Tommy, reluctantly, brought his crossbow down to his side, removing the arrow and replacing it in its quiver. 

"Jesus, you're always so hostile," clucked Dream, entering the cavern, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He glanced at Tommy and shook his head in mock disappointment. "Perhaps if you were smarter about your actions, you would have won the war."

"We did win the war," said Tommy. "I gave you my discs, you bastard."

At this, Dream smirked. "You won your independence, sure. But winning the war....don't make me laugh." 

He shared a playful glance with Eret, who seemed like he was having the time of his life. He lowered his bow and slung it over his shoulder. 

Tommy glanced at Tubbo, whose head was hanging low, gaze trained on the floor. He longed to run to his friend, get them both out of here, safely back into L'Manberg. 

_Perhaps if you were smarter about your actions..._

Tommy turned to Dream. "We had our independence. You had no right to come in and fuck with that." He turned a fierce gaze onto Eret. "You had no right to take one of our own."

Eret's smile didn't fade as he and Dream shared another, seemingly amused gaze. Tommy's gut lurched with annoyance. He grit his teeth, scowled at the both of them. "What the fuck do you _want_?" he said, voice cracking with emotion. 

"Oh, Tommy." Dream sighed, adjusted the position of his mask. He was far too comfortable, and it was infuriating. "So naive."

"So trusting," added Eret, his grin a dagger, eyes ablaze. 

Tubbo's own eyes remained on the ground.

Tommy's breathing quickened, and his grip tightened on his crossbow. "What the fuck do you want from me?" he repeated it slowly, and when neither of them answered for a second time, he raised the weapon, once more aiming at Eret, and grasped for an arrow. 

Eret didn't move, only continued to smile lazily. 

Tommy loaded the arrow and prepared to shoot. His finger was just twitching toward the trigger when Tubbo stepped forward.

"Tommy."

The voice of his friend sent another blinding dagger racing through Tommy's heart, and he froze, eyes flickering over toward where Tubbo was standing. His eyes were wide, almost pleading. 

And in that split second, Dream lurched forward and snatched the crossbow from Tommy's grip.

Panic flooding his system, suddenly defenseless, Tommy stepped backward, hands raised toward the sky. But Dream didn't seem to have any intention of shooting.

Instead, he was looking at Tubbo.

"Why don't you tell Tommy," he mused, "why he and his actions are harmful to those around him."

Tommy's breath caught in his throat. 

His gaze locked with Tubbo's.

Tubbo's eyes were swimming in some unrecognizable emotion. "I knew you'd come for me," he whispered. "All of you."

"Of course we came for you. You're one of us." Tommy stepped forward, then stopped. Reconsidered. 

Tubbo began to wring his hands, and he glanced uneasily toward the floor again. "I'm one of you...." He said it slowly, as if he was unsure. 

"Tubbo?" Tommy felt disembodied, all of a sudden, like he was simply a soul, floating without a body in this dirty, grimy cavern. 

There came a noise from the ladder, and Tommy's head jerked toward it, nerves blazing, the sound of victorious chatter setting his heart on fire.

George and Sapnap entered the cavern, smiles adorning their lips. When their eyes alighted on Tommy, they shared an amused glance. 

"What happened with L'Manberg?" Dream approached them and handed George Tommy's crossbow. 

"They retreated," said Sapnap, setting his torch to the side and lazily crossing his arms. He was looking at Tommy like the kid was some kind of circus animal to laugh at, to amuse the public. "We let them go since we assumed you got him already."

Tommy's gut twisted. He felt bolted to the cave floor. 

"Looks like you did," said George, quite unnecessarily, and smiled grimly. 

_You're one of us._

"I must say, Tubbo," said Eret, placing an affectionate hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're quite good at pretending to be a damsel in distress."

But Tubbo's eyes were locked on Tommy, wide and filled with that same unidentifiable emotion. But suddenly, Tommy knew what it was. He knew why his friend's gaze was so wet with pleading.

They were the eyes of a guilty soul.

"No." It ripped its way through Tommy's lips before he could stop it. He stumbled backward, away from Tubbo, and looked wildly to Dream, who was looking on beside George. Tommy shook his head, looked back to Tubbo. "No," he said again, as if he could reverse the damage, and suddenly he felt sick, his head clouding over with intangible thoughts, all whirling and grasping for purchase.

"Tommy." Tubbo stepped forward, reaching for his friend. "Please, Tommy--you had to know that L'Manberg wasn't going to work. You had to know that...." He trailed off, shook his head, began again. "Join us," he said, the emotion falling through the cracks of his sentences like honey. "Please, you're....you're my best friend. I want you on the right side."

Tommy's breathing felt far too loud, and he shook his head, trying to clear his racing thoughts. "Tubbo..." 

"You'll get your discs back." Tubbo's words were tumbling out of him, all jumbled and filled with desperation. "You'll be rich, you'll...you're good at fighting, and leading, and...and so Dream promised he would let you rule a bit of the land here, you just have to....you just have to join us." Tubbo stopped, breathless. His hair hung clumsily in his eyes, and an image came to Tommy, a memory that depicted the two of them sitting against the trunk of a redwood, and how Tommy glanced at his friend and remarked dryly, _You really need a haircut, big man._

Tommy's throat began to close. He dared not speak, fearing that the emotion would spill. He looked to Eret, and his nose crinkled with rage. "You," he whispered, "you're filling his head with lies."

But Eret only shrugged. "He approached me. He's the mastermind here; I'm only one of the pawns in this....weird little plan of his."

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, dug his fingers into his hair.

"Tommy, please." There came the feeling of Tubbo's hands on his wrists, trying desperately to pull his arms down and away from his face. "Please, just do the right thing--"

"Get away from me." Violently, Tommy stepped backward and watched the hurt cloud Tubbo's eyes. "You're...you....Jesus." He sighed, trying to get his words in order. "The right thing, Tubbo, is standing up against tyrants like Dream." He narrowed his eyes. "Not joining them."

And what was strange about it all, what was tugging at Tommy's judgment like a string on a pull toy, was that he _wanted_ to join Tubbo. He wanted to stand by his best friend no matter the circumstance, and part of him wondered what would become of him if he were to say yes. Would the guilt of leaving his nation behind be worth the loyalty?

Or, rather, would the guilt of leaving behind years worth of loyalty be worth the saving of his nation?

Tubbo bit his lip. "Tommy....don't do this to me...."

"You've done this to yourself." Tommy bit back the emotion rising in his throat, and tried to look as stone-faced as possible. "Tubbo, you know I can't join you. You know that."

Tubbo stood frozen for a moment, before something in his expression hardened, and he stepped backward, his arms falling by his sides. All of the desperation seemed to have fled his system.

The two boys stood facing each other for what felt like hours. Days. Years. The cavern echoed with the sound of their breathing. 

_And they were alone, sitting beneath the redwood, when Tubbo said, "You know, Tommy, I think you're my best friend._

_And Tommy responded, "And I think you're mine."_

Tommy turned away, wrenching himself from Tubbo, and faced Dream.

"Can I go?" He surprised himself at the hardness of his voice. 

Dream seemed to consider for a moment, his eyes flickering almost sadly to Tubbo, before nodding. He held out the crossbow for Tommy to take. "You're making a mistake," he said gravely.

_I know._

Tommy snatched his crossbow, then started for the ladder, biting his lip. He could feel their eyes on him like flies.

_The art of betrayal is a nasty thing._

He didn't look back, only began to climb.


	5. Part Five [FINALE]

_ TUBBO _

He didn't recognize his reflection.

It stared back at him with hollowed-out eyes, a boy with a golden crown perched in a nest of brown hair. A revolutionary uniform traded out for the green button-down he'd so adored in his life before, back when L'Manberg was simply a dream whispered about in the dead of night.

It was strange, to be on the other side. The _winning_ side.

_The right side._

He let his hand float upward, and touched a finger to the crown gingerly, feeling its worth. Pure gold, a representation of the rule he would hold over his section of the SMP. And oh, it was quite a large section; Dream had given him everything his little heart had yearned for back within those confining walls of L'Manberg. All the bees he'd ever wanted buzzed below, in an indoor atrium Eret had built for him, and only for him. 

His fingers traveled downward, away from the crown and alighting on his shirt, just above his heart. 

There was no amount of riches that would fill the hole Tommy had left there, with his crossbow and his downward-facing eyes. 

All Tubbo had wanted was a happy ending for the both of them. 

In the early days of the revolution, it had seemed so easy. Ambitious, sure, but they seemed as if they'd had a fighting chance. But as wars wear on, and soon, the fact becomes evident that revolutionaries are nothing more than boys playing dress-up. 

Eret had pointed this out to him, late at night under the stars, back when they'd first established themselves. Wilbur and the rest had been sleeping soundly; Tubbo had been sleepless, and Eret, lonely. 

And so they'd conversed:

_"Do you think we're going to win?"_

_"Honestly?" Eret had laid his hand on his forehead, eyes trained toward the stars. It was one of the few times Tubbo had seen him without his sunglasses, all vulnerability, wide open to interpret. "No, Tubbo. I don't think we're going to win."_

_Tubbo had blinked, heart sinking quickly to his toes. "But..."_

_"Revolution is often futile." Eret turned his face toward the younger boy, and it was then that Tubbo had been able to see the inside of his friend's head. The working mechanisms that spun the gears in his head. The strange certainty that had come to rest upon his prying eyes. It made Tubbo uneasy, to see such resignation. "L'Manberg is no different."_

_Tubbo bit his lip, and tossed an uneasy glance to where Wilbur was curled up in his sleeping bag, next to the dying fire they'd kindled earlier to cook their dinner. His face was hidden by his mop of hair, his arm thrown outward toward where Tommy lay, unconscious, brow furrowed in the way one furrows it when they are having a nightmare. "You really think that?" he said to Eret, who seemed to be focused on the stars._

_And Eret had simply shook his head briefly, and said, "Look at it this way, Tubbo. History is always going to have two sides to it; and what you wanna do, is you wanna be on the right side." He stretched his arms over his head, fingers brushing the grass beneath his hair. He tossed a meaningful glance at Tubbo. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"_

But he had understood in that control room, when Eret had revealed his true allegiance. 

And he'd truly understood when he approached Eret with a batshit plan in the dead of night, a plan he'd been so sure was the smartest thing his mind had ever taken shape around.

He'd been so determined he was making the right decision. That defining himself on the winning side of history was not only sensible but that it would save his life.

He'd been so sure Tommy would join him. He'd been so sure he could save the both of them. They were best friends. 

_They had been best friends._

The door behind Tubbo creaked open, and Eret stepped into the room, all rigid posture and easy stride. His own crown lilted lazily to the side, like the petal of a dying flower. His eyes were masked by his sunglasses; the darkened shades glinting evilly with the reflection of the setting sun, which beamed golden through the windows. 

"You doin' alright?" Eret let the door bang shut behind him, and Tubbo watched him stop, lean against the wall, cross his arms. Their gazes met and mingled with each other in the reflection of the mirror.

"Yeah." But Tubbo's words had been disconnected from his head for some time now. "I'm doing fine."

Eret's brow furrowed. Tubbo turned away from the mirror, driven by some compulsory need to avert his eyes. He couldn't stand the sight of himself; he'd been a kid playing dress-up in a soldier's costume, and now he was slightly older playing dress-up again beneath the crown of a king. 

"You miss them."

Tubbo didn't look at Eret, only traveled lightly over to the window which overlooked the prosperous Dream SMP. Buildings which had sprung from the ground like treesThe, shrubbery overgrown into flourishing gardens; it was a beautiful place. And it was Tubbo's, now. 

The sound of Eret's shoes sounded lightly on the floorboards as he approached the window beside Tubbo, hands clasped behind his back, eyes far away. "You know, sometimes I do, too."

Tubbo blinked, glanced at him. "You what?"

Eret bit his lip. "Miss them."

Something panged Tubbo, and he blinked away the warm feeling in his eyes. He wondered briefly what Wilbur would think of all this, the crown on his head and the sun casting golden shadows on the sprawling SMP. Would he call it beautiful?

"I wish there wasn't any war." Tubbo felt his heart tremor with the yearning for it, that world where peace was rampant rather than all this battle. Where his friends could share the fate of being rich and plentiful, where they wouldn't face their losses and Dream's wrath when their revolution finally crumbled. 

Eret let out a heavy sigh. "Me too, bud." He turned away from the window, floorboards creaking as he began to pace back towards the door. "Me too."

There was a moment of silence, and Tubbo was left stranded in it.

"Are you coming?"

Turning, Tubbo saw that Eret was poised by the door, one hand resting on the handle, eyebrows raised in a single question mark. 

Tubbo blinked. "To what?"

Eret's lips peeled back into an easy smile. "There's going to be a banquet, didn't Dream tell you?"

Slowly, Tubbo shook his head.

"Ah." Eret nodded, understanding something unspoken. "Well. Perhaps it was supposed to be a surprise. It's to celebrate your upcoming reign."

Tubbo's heart gave an uneasy lurch. _Reign._

He really was a king.

Wealthy. Winning.

All alone.

"Oh." Tubbo felt himself shrivel. He forced himself to smile. "Cool."

Eret let out a chuckle. "Fuck yeah it's cool. You're a _king_ , Tubbo. You're on the right side of history." He opened the door, and tossed one last glance behind him before exiting down the hallway. "I'll see you tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah." Tubbo watched as Eret left, and the door swung shut behind him, locking the room with an atmosphere of false excitement.

_You've chosen the right side of history._

But Tubbo wasn't sure he had, anymore.

He was hearing Tommy's laugh in his mind, echoing in the chamber of his skull like some wicked opera. Wilbur's smile joined it, and Niki's warm words whenever he was stressed. Fundy's sensible laugh, and Jack's crass jokes.

The crown on his head felt suddenly very heavy. 

He turned to face the window again, looked in the direction of L'Manberg. He could just barely make out the tops of the surrounding walls, the dark brick which surrounded the only place he'd ever truly loved.

And what of it, if it was destroyed in the end?

"You're wrong, Eret," he whispered, as he reached up and lifted the crown from his hair gingerly like it were a living thing. Like a spider that had crawled up and settled itself upon his head, an imposter seeping poison into his thoughts. He'd finally downed the antidote. He'd finally realized what it truly meant to be a king, and it wasn't this. "I'm not on the right side of history."

He wondered if they would take him back, now that he was tainted as a traitor. It scared him to death, to think of the possibility that Tommy might turn him away, dub him as unworthy.

But he had to try. 

He didn't think he could bear it if he stayed. 

So he let the crown fall from his fingers and knock to the floor. It rolled toward the window and came to a rest against the golden glass; faux against the authentic.

And with one last look in the mirror, at the boy who'd lost himself and then found it again, he smiled his first real smile in weeks.

_I'm coming, Tommy._


End file.
